Shark Bait
by Empress Jejune Tome
Summary: If Voldemort finally got his hands on Harry, what would he do?


Disclaimer: I do not own anything of Harry Potter which is strictly the creation of J.K. Rowling. I do, however, own this piece of fanfiction... so there.   
  
  
  
  
  
A gust of frigid air swept through the Gryffindor Common Room. By reflex, Hermione pulled her sweater higher on her bare, freezing shoulders.   
"It's amazingly cold for September!" she exclaimed, almost begging for sympathy from Ron and Harry who sat opposite her, fiddling with their Divination homework.   
"Quiet Herm! I'm trying to predict what is going to happen to me next week. I'm having trouble deciding between being ripped to shreds and devoured by a pack of hungry wolves, or being tied to an angry rhino and thrown about the African Savannah." Ron tossed his head back, flashing a mischevious look. Hermione rolled her eyes. Why did they insist on attending that class, anyhow?  
"I guess we should be heading down for dinner, eh?" suggested Harry. His mind seemed to be elsewhere and the pained expression upon his face offered his scar as the solution. As quickly as the expression had come, it disappeared and was replaced by the normal half-smile that Harry wore.   
"What's wrong, Harry?" asked a genuinely concerned Hermione.   
"Nothing."  
"No! I mean it. Does your scar hurt?"  
"No, I al-" Harry was cut off as the row of windows in the room slammed shut at the same time. The heavy wooden doors that opened the common room to the stairwell swung aimlessly about, as if pushed by the wind. Ron choked.   
"Those doors! They can't move! They're too heavy...What's going on?" No one had a chance to respond for the doors quickly latched shut. Hermione heard the lock click from the outside. The candles that were sprinkled through the room blew out immediatly thereafter. Hermione turned her attention to the only light left in the room: the fireplace. The once happy, crackling fire was now reduced to smothered gray embers that lay scattered across the carpet.   
Caught senseless in the pitch dark, the three friends scrambled for an exit... anywhere. They could find nothing, every inch of the room was walled in and solid. Hermione gave up and walked over to the window. She layed her palms on the sill and rested her head on the glass.  
Believing she had heard a noise, the teen looked up. Hermione caught her breath in her throat. A shadowy figure was aimed right for the window in front of her.  
"Oh my g..g..o..." she gasped as the shadow swung right through the glass. Shattered panes were thrown around the common, flying in all directions, hitting everything. The now bloody figure stood abruptly, startling the students. He moaned quietly in pain, crimson blood seeping from the shards of glass in his flesh.   
Hermione saw his face, wretched in agony and suffering.   
Hermione saw his face, and saw if was the face of Peter Pettigrew.   
"You!" Harry spat angrily, "why are you back here?"  
"My Master has returned again. He wants me to take you." Wormtail kept his eyes on the ground as he mumbled this.  
"Take me?" Hermione almost laughed at the curious tone of her friend. It was almost so..simple. How could a submissive, wounded rat capture three wizards?  
Wormtail lifted his heavy head. On his lips played a menacing grin.   
"It's only a facade, Harry. Only a facade." With this spoken, Hermione felt her body twist in pain. She tried to scream, to yell, to cry out, but no sound was formed. She could no longer move her arms or legs. Her body shrieked from the torture, the pain filling every inch of her blood. Then, it stopped. All at once, there was no more pain. She lay spasming on the floor, reduced to nothing more than a bawling child.   
"No..Harry," she croaked, every portion of her body throbbing. She opened her swollen eyes and glimpsed around. It took a while to focus, but she could see Ron, curled on the floor beside her, but he was not moving. She could see no evidence of Wormtail or Harry. Harry.   
The last of her hope fell to the ground like a droplet of water. Slowly standing, Hermione whispered to Ron. She shook his limp shoulders, turning him on his back. The image on his face showed utter terror. He had been frozen in time.   
With the last of her dying strength, Hermione dragged her friend across the bloodstained carpet. A streak of scarlet trailed behind the boy. She called out to no one in particular, feeling her voice fading in time with her soul.   
"Help. Please, somebody, help us." She collapsed on her broken knees and felt herself sliding away as Professor McGonall hurried up the stairs to her side. Hermione lost Ron's hands and was carried away, floating above a crowd of people like a cloud. Harry was still gone. Her world had been a makeshift tent, worked on for hours, that suddenly falls under the pressure of the storm. She felt the anger and pent-up emotions rising in her chest. Gathering her strength, she pushed away from the crowd and ran. It felt like such a strenous journey, she must have been running for hours.. but yet, she had traveled no where. She ran straight into the arms of Dumbledore before her world turned black.   
When Hermione awoke, a white sheet covered her eyes. Outside, in the infirmary, she could see shapes moving and gesturing wildly and hear bits of conversation.   
"Why Harry though? Why does he keep coming after Harry?"  
"Maybe it's not Harry he's after."  
"Well, whatever do you mean? Who else is there that he fears?"  
"Perhaps Harry is only the small fry, you know, the bait... and when fishing, the good fisherman always uses small bait to catch big fish."  
"I still don't get it."  
"Let's say that Harry Potter is a trout, and then, lessee, You-Know-Who catches the trout, but wants to catch a Great White shark. So then, he uses the trout to fish for the shark. Its as plain as that. Harry Potter is shark bait for Albus Dumbledore."  
Hermione blocked the rest of the talk from her mind. Shark bait. The word rang over and over in her mind as she tossed and turned in the cool infirmary bed. Her head filled with ideas, emotions, words, phrases...everything until it felt as though it would explode. The throbbing, aching pain returned to her body and she screamed for help, for a cure, for it to stop. The dark was invaded by bright lights that flashed above her head and hands prodding every part of her. The last concious words she thought were: shark bait. 


End file.
